


Scratch

by PunkHazard



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 03:12:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4331583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunkHazard/pseuds/PunkHazard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermann and Stacker spend a night out with some of the PPDC's youngest Rangers. Sometimes perspective isn't all it's cracked up to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scratch

PPDC after-parties in Hong Kong always last well into the morning, everyone gathered in a reliable bar or lounge by the end, anyone still awake and sober enough to walk hauling all others back to the Dome. That’s pretty normal; how Stacker ended up at a billiards hall with one (1) scientist, five (5) Jaeger pilots, and one (1) Mako, he’s still trying to figure out.

Gottlieb’s looking just as bewildered, some non-alcoholic drink in hand as he and Stacker exchange a look and settle at a nearby booth to watch the pilots bicker. They’ve booked three tables, one of Crimson Typhoon’s pilots taking a post at each. Yuna and So-yi play a lightning-fast game of rock-paper-scissors before they join Jin and Hu (respectively), selecting their cues and racking up. Mako gravitates toward Cheung, who teasingly offers to go easy on her.

“Not playing?” asks Stacker, sipping blearily on a tall glass of ginger ale. “I understand that this your game, doctor.”

“That was a long time ago,” Hermann deflects, eyes flickering over to Hu’s table as the Ranger sets the cue ball and takes aim behind it. The sound of his break echoes like a thunderclap around the hall, closely followed by Jin and Cheung’s. “I don’t know that I could win against those three, even.”

“Jin gets careless,” Stacker mutters, “Hu chooses difficult shots even when better options are available, and Cheung lapses when the game doesn’t go his way from the start. I think you’d have a fair shake.”

“You’ve played with them.”

Affectionately, and with some nostalgia, “There was a table in the rec lounge before it fell apart from overuse. It was an old thing from the start.”

“Marshal, do you think Miss Mori can win?”

“Not a chance,” Stacker says, a laugh in the back of his throat, “she’s going to get smoked. Those three used to hustle Triads.”

“And other students at Kodiak.” Hermann gives him a sly look across the table, smile quirking on his lips. “I think Miss Mori can put up a fight.”

Gottlieb stands, leaning heavily on his cane as he makes his way over to Mako’s table. Stacker watches Hermann decline an invitation to join the game, sitting at one of the stools set up by the wall instead. The first few turns go by, Cheung sinking a good majority of his balls before Mako’s first stroke– then Hermann calls her over, whispering something in her ear.

She sends off a sloppy first shot, sinks no balls, but obstructs every possibility that Cheung could take on his final two. He blows his next turn, a vein in this temple beginning to throb while Mako slowly, deliberately, blocks every hole as her turns pass. Cheung accidentally pockets two of Mako’s balls before he pulls back, growing more cautious.

“Hit number 7 at six o'clock,” Hermann says when Mako finally starts to score in earnest, “full power is fine, aim slightly below center so the cue ball trails back. Now the 1. Try to get it at four o'clock, into the pocket on the far left. Graze the 2 at three o'clock, as gently as you can.”

When Mako finally misses, tip of her cue glancing off the edge of a ball, Cheung exhales loudly, quickly taking his place at the table and finishing the game with three clean shots. Mako applauds politely, then moves to rack up again. “Dr. Gottlieb,” Cheung says, sounding wounded as he hefts the cue ball between his hands, “have I insulted you somehow?”

“Of course not,” Hermann answers. “Don’t you prefer a challenging game anyway?”

Cheung smiles, shaking his head. “You never gave me or my brothers tips like that.”

“You three didn’t need it,” Hermann points out. He sighs, leaning back in his seat to take pressure off his legs. “I just thought Miss Mori could use a physics lesson.”

“Physics?” Mako asks, brows crinkling. “I only just started physics.”

“Pool is all math and physics, Mako.” Cheung sets the ball and sights down his stick, motioning Mako over to his end of the table and giving Hermann a challenging grin. “Maybe Dr. Gottlieb can demonstrate in the next round.”

Stacker cuts in this time, joining the table with a stern look in Cheung’s direction. “Dr. Gottlieb has a long day of work tomorrow, calibrating Crimson Typhoon’s specs after its most recent round of repairs. We should be heading back.”

Hermann nods, relief coloring his expression at the out Stacker’s offering him, though he also flashes Cheung an indulgent smile. “Maybe some other day. I’ve had a bit too much to drink tonight.”

Cheung looks sheepish at his own thoughtlessness, immediately pulling his phone from his pocket and checking the time. “I’ll call someone to give you three a lift back to the Dome, Marshal. We promised to show Nova Hyperion around while they’re still in Hong Kong.”

“Much appreciated, Ranger.”

“But Dr. Gottlieb,” teases Cheung, not looking up from his phone, “you can do math like that drunk?”

Hermann retorts immediately, “I do my best math drunk.” At Mako’s curious glance, he clears his throat, one arm flailing slightly in agitation. “Er– I mean, once one has had enough practice and invested enough discipline, this level of calculation is easy enough in any state of sobriety. So… while I do not, specifically, suggest intoxication, any serious student of mathematics should reach this level for optimal return on investment.”

Hu calls over from the other table, hand cupped over his mouth while So-yi muffles a laugh into her glass of soju, “Nice save, doctor!”

“Sensei,” Mako interrupts after a moment, “can I stay out with them?”

Stacker looks at the Weis, idly tallying their ages in relation to Mako’s. “They probably have plans that don’t involve watching a fifteen-year-old. Maybe next time.”

Jin moves closer, Yuna on his heels. “We don’t mind if Mako comes along,” he says cheerfully, glancing over his shoulder to prompt a nod from Nova Hyperion’s 01. “She’s a good kid, it won’t be any trouble.”

“It’s boring when the boys outnumber us anyway,” So-yi pipes up, winking at Mako and trading a high-five with Hu behind her back, “we’ll look out for her.”

“We were just going to stay here an hour and then head downstairs for karaoke anyway.”

Stacker eyes them, meeting six intent stares. For all that Mako’s barely even old enough to qualify for Jaeger Academy prep, she’s already got the same aura, that drive and bloody-minded will all successful Rangers have. Maybe she’s been spending too much time around pilots; Stacker motions vaguely at the elevator by the pool hall entrance. “Don’t you need IDs to get in?”

Hu hisses through his teeth, looking a little sheepish but mostly proud. “We know the bouncers. And even if our guys aren’t on tonight, they’ll know us. This is Hong Kong.”

“We’re not gonna let her drink,” Jin offers, “and Cheung isn’t going to drink, so they can be bored together.”

Stacker mutters something under his breath that looks and sounds a lot like ’ _Children,_ ’ to Hermann, but he relents with a weary nod. He isn’t Mako’s parent– at least, not officially– but as her teacher, he pulls her aside. 「I expect that I won’t be getting a call from the police at three in the morning,」 he says quietly, though that had never been much of a problem with pilots in Hong Kong. 「And that your performance tomorrow both in class and in the hangar won’t be affected.」

「Yes, Sensei.」 Mako never did perfect a cherubic, puppy-eyed expression, but she looks at him, mature and clear-eyed. 「I promise to behave. I’ll keep an eye on them, too.」

「Be safe, Mako.」

While boarding the car Cheung had called, a classy-looking vehicle driven by a lean man no taller or bigger than Hermann but tattooed up to his neck and down his arms past rolled-up sleeves, Hermann hesitates for a second at the door. It doesn’t, after all, look anything like the actual taxis he’s seen around the city before. Stacker slides into the back easily, making space for Hermann as he confirms the directions back to the Shatterdome in stilted Cantonese.

Checking the time, Hermann leans back, cane settled snug between his knees as he looks out the window, watching neon signs and dim storefronts flash by. “It’s nearly one in the morning,” he observes, “half these stores are still open.”

“The 7-Elevens stay open all night.” Stacker’s eyes are closed, head tilted back. “Night markets don’t shut down for another hour. I was staying out later than this not five years ago, but it feels like a chore now.”

Hermann offers him an unseen smile, admiring the way light flashes over the Marshal’s face, throwing the smooth lines by his eyes into stark contrast. He’s rarely so unguarded, every wall that Marshal Stacker Pentecost has built around himself impenetrable in their day-to-day. “Old age gets the best of all of us.”

Stacker’s eyes open then, looking beyond the hood of the car. He leans forward, stretching his neck and shoulders. “We should be so lucky.”

Hermann would hazard a guess as to what he’s thinking: the Weis, Yuna and So-yi, all of them on a crash course toward death. The brothers have been deploying for two years now, Nova Hyperion just wrapped up their rookie year. All of them have only recently reached the age of majority in Hong Kong. Mako’s cramming for Academy. Maybe that’s why he’d allowed her to stay out with them; Stacker has no real plans to allow Mako into a Jaeger, but time with Rangers is precious and often short-lived.

“It’s only after I started working for the PPDC,” Hermann murmurs, “that I began hoping my calculations would be incorrect. There’s still ample time for me to be proven wrong.”

“Dr. Gottlieb,” Stacker answers, dark eyes turning on him, lit every few seconds with a reflection from the window behind Hermann, “accurate predictions– yours in particular– have kept my Rangers alive and their homes safe. We can’t operate on hope alone, as I’m sure you understand.”

A weight seems to settle in Hermann’s chest, something like the entire Shatterdome’s mass pressing down on his lungs. He’d wondered occasionally how it’d feel to be a Ranger, operating not only thousands of tons of machinery worth billions of dollars, but carrying on their shoulders the lives of everyone on earth. What must it be like, to be at the center of PPDC operations? Evidently the fame is one thing, the responsibility another beast entirely. 

He swallows. “I’m aware, Marshal.”

They pull up to the Shatterdome, Stacker passing a few bills to the driver before he steps out, striding around the back of the car and pulling the door open for Hermann, patiently waiting for him to stand. When the car pulls away, they stay at the entrance, a single dim light illuminating its metal door.

Hermann can’t make out Pentecost’s face in the darkness but the Marshal’s voice is low and quiet, almost apologetic as it rings in his ears. “Then have a good night, Dr. Gottlieb. I’ll see you in the morning.”


End file.
